If I’d had a couple more years of serious gardening under my belt, I might have planted a true “Xeriscape” on my southwest facing hell corner, the garden I christened my “proof of life” garden in an earlier post. I might have skipped the drip system that’s all primed to deliver a half-hour of highly efficient watering twice a week, to a set of carefully chosen, mostly native perennials and shrubs. A garden that, once established, needed no supplemental water would have been possible.

But not by me, not at that moment. Right now I suspect my neighbors chuckle about the woman with the fancy irrigation system who’s still out there in May with her hose, hand watering because she’s not gonna turn the dang thing on until it’s way past ANY potential of a freeze. (Truth? I hate going down in the crawl space to flip the valve thingy.)

In any case, there I was, out on the corner, worrying after three dry warm days, checking the soil and fussing. I remember last summer when I planted that plot at the end of June, and it got so hot that I shielded the new shrub-lings from the searing July sun with cardboard boxes or a little tent made of a damp sheet draped across a patio chair. It looked like hell, but the shrubs made it.

We HAVE gardens to fuss over them. It’s like owning pets — the reason for that being to spoil and enjoy them, within certain limits of reason. There are, my garden guru tells me, plants that absolutely resent fussing-over, like sedums. But I’ve learned as a cook that if you’re skilled enough, you can have success without a recipe if you pay attention. Without attention, no recipe can save you. It’s only through attention, imbued with fierce longing, that anyone grows in skill. The metaphor stretches to anything: writing, love, pet ownership.

And maybe if the attention is fierce enough and is paid at the right altitude on a learning curve, it changes you. The proof of life garden isn’t finished, but I’ve come to terms with it being a process. After our recent heat blast (88 degrees Tuesday!) I watered parts of it and will water again later this week as the grasses put on a growth spurt and a “Snow Lady” daisy prepares to send up blooms. Unless, of course, we get rain. (Another thing horticulture pros kvetch about: folks who don’t adjust their sprinklers to conditions).

Spring in Colorado always turns me into a kid on a road trip with her nose pressed between the front seats, torn between impatience and procrastination. I feel like I’m asking incessantly: “are we there yet? are we there yet? are we there yet?” until I flop from exhaustion. When the adult in me reclaims command, I am also torn: between acceptance that some plants may struggle, may die, and the impulse to say, “not if I can help it.”

Last weekend, to signal that the season really has turned a corner and we’re done with frost, I put out my favorite piece of garden bling: a solar birdbath fountain that brings the music of splashing to that dry corner, pictured at the top of this post. A seasonal road sign.

Hi Susan – please turn on your irrigation, we’re THERE. Everything woke up – the bugs, the weeds, the plants – and despite our rain over the past week we had the driest spring since the year of the drought (down here, anyway – not at elevation). Sorry to sound crabby (and you don’t have to post this to your blog), but I’m being run ragged by folks whose lawns are browning out. They call me out and when I see the carnage my internal voice starts saying “gosh, have you considered – oh, I don’t know – watering??”

Hi Susan – please turn on your irrigation, we’re THERE. Everything woke up – the bugs, the weeds, the plants – and despite our rain over the past week we had the driest spring since the year of the drought (down here, anyway – not at elevation). Sorry to sound crabby (and you don’t have to post this to your blog), but I’m being run ragged by folks whose lawns are browning out. They call me out and when I see the carnage my internal voice starts saying “gosh, have you considered – oh, I don’t know – watering??”

Becky Hensley is the co-founder of Share Denver - a community craft space in Park Hill. She's also the proud Ninja-in Chief of the Denver Craft Ninjas -- a women’s crafting collective dedicated to keeping the DIY spirit alive through laughter, shared skills, and cocktails.

Colorado native Mark Montano is an international designer, artist, author and television personality. He has appeared on TLC’s “While You Were Out” and “10 Years Younger,” as well as “My Celebrity Home” on the Style Network, “She’s Moving In” on We TV, “The Tony Danza Show” on ABC, and “My Home 2.0” on Fox.